Page 13 of Equalizer
Winston led them into the parlor and Abby took a seat in the wing chair, sitting primly with perfect posture.
“Please pass along our best wishes and thanks to Miss Tarbell,” Calvin said. “We have enjoyed working with her and hope she is doing well.”
Abby smiled, which softened her features and brought an unexpected glint of merriment to her eyes. “I will. She’s a good friend—and a wonderful colleague. We write to each other often.”
“How can we be of help?” Owen and Calvin sat on the sofa facing Abby. With company, they maintained a respectable distance between them. Winston slipped out to bring tea for them, returning quickly with three steaming cups.
“I’ve been at theTribunefor three years now,” Abby said. “I started on the society page and fought my way out to write for the opinion section as well as cover news stories. A friend of mine, Molly Dawson, runs a settlement house. Are you familiar with the concept?”
Both Calvin and Owen nodded, which seemed to surprise Abby. “Good. Less explaining. Molly confided to me that she has heard about the bodies of people who died during the night vanishing.
“That made her keep her ears open to what some of their residents and visitors were talking about. More than once, people commented on the bodies of street people who died disappearing before the police could come to take them away,” Abby added.
She paused to sip her tea, and the momentary look of bliss at the good flavor softened the intensity of her expression. Calvin got the impression Abby was highly intelligent, relentlessin pursuit of a story, and unafraid to ruffle feathers for a good cause.
He liked her already.
“Molly started making inquiries. She can be fearless when something sets her off,” Abby said in a fond tone, making it clear she approved. “Then I heard about the explosion—and the missing body. A tragedy, and I suspect, not an accident.”
“Oh?” Calvin was intrigued to see how she had arrived at the same conclusion he and Owen held.
“I knew Marvin Cobb, the man who disappeared,” she said.
“We were told he was a reporter—and was also looking into the missing bodies,” Owen said.
Abby nodded. “We were working on the story from different angles for different papers, but it was a friendly competition. Marvin was a good man, and he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
Calvin frowned. “We don’t believe the gas leak was an accident. If you’re investigating the missing bodies, then you’re in danger too.”
“I realize that. Which is why I hired my brother to be my driver and bodyguard until this all settles down. But I refuse to be scared off the story. The fact that someone is willing to kill for it tells me there’s more here than hard-luck men selling corpses to medical schools.”
Calvin had to admire her pluck.She’d have made a good agent.
Victorian social conventions restricted the role of women, but clever—and stubborn—individuals found ways around the rules or crashed through them by dint of sheer force of personality.
Calvin and Owen had a number of female friends whose aid proved essential in their cases. If they suspected what Calvin andOwen were to each other or even their leanings, it didn’t seem to bother them.
“I’ve spoken to his family, offering condolences, and they are bereft,” she went on. “I don’t believe it was an accident either. My suspicion is that whoever killed him thought it would be a final indignity to take his corpse, and they counted on the fire to hide the evidence.”
Calvin and Owen nodded in agreement.
“That’s what we suspect as well,” Owen said. “Have you turned up any ideas about what’s being done with the bodies since they aren’t being stolen in the usual way?”
Abby paused. “Do you believe in the unseen?”
“You mean ghosts? Magic? The paranormal?” Owen asked. He and Calvin didn’t admit to their abilities to outsiders, but they often tapped the skills of other psychics and witches in their cases.
“Yes,” she replied and looked braced for reproof or even laughter.
“We do,” Calvin replied cautiously. “Some people are charlatans, but real abilities exist.”
She let out a breath and relaxed a bit more. “Good. Because I’m compiling evidence that what’s going on is a combination of witchcraft—and science.”
Calvin cocked his head, curious. “We’ve been wondering whether the science part involves galvanism. Not something as outlandish as in that British author’s book?—”
“Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley,” Abby said, and Calvin nodded.
“Yes. Not bringing a corpse back to life or stitching a whole person together from pieces of other bodies,” he clarified. “But robbing the dead for parts. Transplants have been done on living people. What if someone wanted to go looking for replacements to heal wealthy patients—hearts, spleens, livers? A missing handor foot? Or maybe, for someone desperate to avoid detection, faces?”
